


Just What the Truth Is, I Can't Say Anymore

by Mixxy



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Happy Ending, M/M, Not as dark as it sounds I swear, Souls, Wingfic, Wings, but not in the way you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixxy/pseuds/Mixxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you an angel?"</p><p>"Angels don't exist."</p><p>Carlos can't remember a lot of his trip to Night Vale. But he's here now, and he's got a boyfriend with wings, a headache when he tries to remember things too much, and a town that doesn't seem to be telling as much as it knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, guys, I meant to just write some wingfic, and then it got away from me and turned long and had a lot of feelings and I can't. I promise it ends happy though. 
> 
> Trigger warning for suicide and abusive relationships

When Carlos arrives in Night Vale, he’s got a splitting headache and his arms keep falling asleep. He’s tired, too. The kind of tired that seeps down into your bones and makes your feet feel like they’re weighted. He chalks the headache and the numb extremities up to dehydration (this desert is much hotter than he’d imagined, and he feels a little faint, too). Once he arrives at the lab, he drinks two glasses of water from the tap. He’s not very thirsty, but he’d like the headache to go away.

It actually persists, for a day or two. Then he starts to feel like his old self again. He thinks that he must have been more dehydrated than he thought the first day- he only has foggy memories of the drive up to Night Vale, though he can clearly remember getting up in his own home that morning and taking a bath, and after he got into the town and the headache started. He must not have drunk enough water the night before.

He gets settled in, sets up his lab equipment, tries to make the tiny apartment above the lab feel a little homier. He doesn’t succeed, but hey, it’s an effort.

He meets Cecil not long after. The radio host catches his arm after the town meeting, asks him for a quote. Carlos tries not to blush- Cecil is, for lack of a better word, pretty. He’s tall and elegant, with just a hint of rebel in the tattoos that peek out above his collar and under his sleeves. His eyes are very blue and his hair is two-toned and coiffed in a way that makes Carlos feel self-conscious of his own uncombed hair. He manages a few sentences without sounding like a total fool, and leaves.

That night, he’s lying in bed and listening to the radio, because he’s not used to his kind of silence- this stifling, desert silence. When Cecil’s smooth tones roll over the airwaves, he nearly drops his book. The man’s voice is different than when he met him earlier. Deeper and entrancing, and Carlos is going to stop thinking about it now because he doesn’t want to creep on this guy’s _voice_ , for God’s sake.

But then that voice is saying things about _him_. Calling him beautiful and perfect, and Cecil saying that he fell in love with him. Carlos feels a little pleased, but also very anxious. He doesn’t want to mess things up in this town, not like back at home, and he really doesn’t want to have to avoid Cecil the entire time.

It turns out that it doesn’t really matter all that much. Cecil is charming in person, if not a bit more enthusiastic and a little less self-confident, and he doesn’t make this awkward with Carlos. Well, he does constantly shower praise on him from the radio, but over time Carlos adapts. After a while, he even starts to feel put off if Cecil doesn’t mention him.

* * *

 

He meets Old Woman Josie to examine the angels- the ones that, according to Cecil, don’t exist. He quizzes her for probably ten minutes overall, getting mostly vague answers, and spends the rest of the time caught up in eating scones and drinking tea that makes his fingers buzz.

She’s a very nice woman, even if she does use phrases like “he’s an enterprising fellow and slightly inclined toward acting as a asswipe”. It feels kind of like how he used to stay with his aunt when he was a child. Back when his parents were fighting so badly they couldn’t have him around in the house, only his sister. He’d go stay with his aunt for anywhere from a few days to a few weeks, during which time he got very good at poker.

“They’re all called Erika,” Josie says once, as Carlos tries vainly to wrestle the conversation back to the angels.

“Erika?” Carlos perks up at that. “Hey, that’s my sister’s name!”

Josie’s smile falters. She narrows grey eyes and sets her cup of tea down, staring intently at Carlos until he shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, Josie?”

She reaches over and pats his hand, just once, and for a split second Carlos’ headache returns. Then it’s gone, and Josie is once again chattering about her garden.

* * *

 

Carlos adjusts to Night Vale, eats at Big Rico’s every week, even attempts the proper protection runes on the door. He doesn’t believe in any of that stuff, but when in Rome, right?

He investigates when he shouldn’t pokes his nose where it really shouldn’t go, and ends up almost dying in the city underneath the bowling alley. As he gasps for air and the world is crumbling around him, he’s distinctly aware of his arms going numb again, and he feels very nauseated.

Then he’s awake and his arms hurt like a _bitch_ as they get feeling back. In addition to the extreme pins and needles, there’s a sharp stinging around his wrists. He wonders if he didn’t break anything when he fell.

But soon none of that matters, because the first thing on his mind was Cecil, and he called him for reasons he still doesn’t understand. It doesn’t matter, not when they’re curled up around each other on the hood of his car, and Carlos can feel him breathing, and it all feels so right.

Sometimes Carlos calls Cecil, half-yelling into the phone, sometimes hysterical, about something that just happened. “Cecil, there was a hailstorm- but it was razors, or- or something- right in front of me, this women she just- just….”

Cecil coos into the other end of the line. “Shh, it’s okay, Carlos,” he reassures him as he stops. “Everyone has a time. There was nothing you could do.”

Carlos presses a hand against the front of his mouth, trying to muffle a sob. “She was there and then she was gone.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“I’m not, I just- I should’ve-”

“I’ll be there as soon as the broadcast is done. Just take deep breaths and think about the sky.”

Carlos does as he’s told, lies on the ground and thinks about the sky, the endless stretch of blue in day and the deep never-ending void at night. Tears roll down his cheeks, and he doesn’t know why. He’s never been a sentimental person. Cecil shows up a half hour later, wordlessly holds Carlos to his chest, strokes his hair.

Carlos’ face is buried in Cecil’s shoulder as his sobs wind down into hiccups and those wind down into soft, staggered breathing. He looks up, meaning to thank Cecil for holding him together when he was so close to falling apart, and suddenly he can’t breathe.

Cecil’s head is lowered, still bent from where he’d been whispering comforts to Carlos, and Carlos can see plainly two large tawny wings extending from Cecil’s back. Carlos’ mind, blank with shock, makes quick calculations. _Roughly five feet long, seven feet high when folded, maybe 6.5_. He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and Cecil looks up. “Carlos? What’s-“ He follows Carlos’ line of vision and pales, wings fluttering anxiously and curling up to- Carlos doesn’t know where, but they’re gone.

Carlos scrambles out of his arms, still shocked. You think he’d be used to this by now, things in Night Vale not being human- after all, the last time he went to the grocery store he decided to self-scan because the cashier had lobster claws- but this is different. He thought he knew Cecil, all of him, and now he _doesn’t_.

Cecil is trembling, still kneeling on the ground, eyes watering slightly. “Carlos,” he says, and it’s like a prayer.

Carlos walks around him, still dazed, and runs a hand between his shoulder blades. Nothing, though Cecil shudders. It only takes a minute for Carlos to drop down behind him and pull him close, chest pressed against his back and arms around his chest. “Are you an angel?” He feels detached from reality, but he knows only one thing, and that’s that he loves Cecil, no matter what he is.

“Angels don’t exist,” Cecil says, still shaking a little.

Carlos presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “Can I see them again?”

Cecil lets out a little relieved laugh and Carlos knows everything will be okay.

* * *

 

Cecil’s wings, when not extended dramatically behind him, take the form of tattoos, stretching from just below his neck to the small of his back. Now that Carlos has seen the wings and is okay with them, he doesn’t hesitate to take his shirt off and show him. Carlos kisses every inch of the inked skin, making Cecil squirm underneath him.

The radio host grabs the back of a chair, letting out a shaky exhale as Carlos thoroughly investigates. Carlos runs his hand along the length of the wing, eventually grabbing each section and manipulating it so the wing is stretched out to it’s full length, and Cecil makes a helpless mewling noise.

“Cecil…” Carlos says, wheels turning, “are your wings…sensitive?”

“Mm-hmm,” Cecil says from around the knuckles he’s stuffed in his mouth to keep further noises out.

“Painful?”

He makes a negative noise.

Carlos rubs the base of the wing, where it meets Cecil’s body, and Cecil moans despite his best efforts. It doesn’t seem to deter Carlos, who makes his way down the rest of the wing, ruffling and smoothing the feathers and listening to the gasps each motion draws from the other man. Eventually he reaches the tip, teasing it with feather-light ( _ha_ ) touches until Cecil is bucking his hips uselessly against the air and emitting a steady stream of “Oh, Carlos, perfect Carlos, please, please, more, sweet, wonderful Carl _ooos!_ ” The last bit is lost in a shriek as Carlos turns him around roughly and grinds their hips together.

Later, when Carlos is sitting down, Cecil climbs on top of him and lowers himself down slowly, hissing at the pleasant burn, and his wings extend majestically behind him. He rocks himself up and down slowly, moaning about how “been so long, so long, wasn’t sure I could- ah- Oh, Carlos-”

Cecil may say he’s not an angel, but Carlos isn’t sure. The sweet tight heat currently surrounding him can only feel like heaven, and damn if Cecil isn’t giving him a religious experience right now. And after Carlos wraps a hand around Cecil’s cock, the other man sure looks like an angel, back arched, head thrown back in bliss, pure pleasure on his face, and wings flung out on either side as he climaxes. Carlos has never seen anything so beautiful.

* * *

 

People continue to die, but nobody seems particularly upset. Cecil occasionally gets melancholy over the newest intern leaving them, but he seems more upset about the fact that he has to teach someone else how to make the proper sacrifices over the coffee machine than he does about the fact that they died. It upsets Carlos, sometimes.

But he learns to move on. And if he does get a little angry about it, he just shoves it down.

He continues his research. One day he leaning off the side of a cliff, trying to capture a sample of the faintly green mist that always seems to hang over it. Every instinct is screaming at him to go back to safety, but he’s almost got it. Just a little farther, just a little-

And then his hand slips and, after a sickening moment where he tries to scrabble at the rock, he’s going over the side. He thought his life would flash before his eyes, but it doesn’t. There’s just _No_ and _Oh god why_ and _I don’t want to die_ and his arms hurt and the headache is back and he can see the ground, coming closer and closer, and _Cecil, I’m sorry._ A crack, and everything goes black.

He sits up, gasping. A quick check of his body tells him there’s nothing broken- not even any fractures or bleeding. How the _fuck_ did that just happen? A fall like that should have killed him. And he fell! He hit the ground!

But he’s not on the ground. He looks around and realizes he’s back on top of the cliff. Was it…a dream? A hallucination? He crawls over to the side- carefully, this time- and can clearly see the scratch marks where he tried to hang on. At the bottom, he can faintly make out one of his testing bottles. No, he fell. But he didn’t die. He wasn’t even harmed.

He sits there, surrounded by his supplies, and puts his head in his hands. He isn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry.

* * *

 

One night, Carlos ties Cecil facedown to the bed and plays with his wings until Cecil is begging. He likes Cecil like this. Taken apart, a whimpering, pleading mess, trying to thrust backward to get any sort of friction. “Please, Carlos- _Oh_ , stop teasing me, _please_ , need you, need your cock-”

Carlos just smiles and brushes his hands across the wings, pulling the feathers in the opposite direction that they grow in. Cecil’s back bends so dramatically Carlos is worried about him for a second, before he starts all but sobbing in pleasure, “Carlos, _Carlos_ , clever, wicked Carlos, I can’t take it, oh, _please_ -”

Carlos leans forward, pressing the wings down against Cecil’s back. Cecil actually _screams_ (oh, man, they’re gonna be getting a letter from the neighbors for sure, or at least the secret police) and comes hard, untouched and still mostly clothed.

He gently strokes Cecil’s wings through his orgasm and the aftershocks, stopping only when Cecil begins to squirm from the oversensitivity. He unties him afterwards, kisses him softly, laughs when Cecil murmurs, “I can’t decide if you’re a sex god or the devil himself”.

As soon as Cecil is recovered, he fucks him, slow and lazy, with Cecil on his back and his wings spread out loosely under him. It’s good, and comfortable, and by the time Carlos is almost there, Cecil is gasping out his second orgasm of the night.

They curl up together, afterwards. Carlos lifts a feather from where it got stuck to his sweaty shoulder. “Oops,” Cecil giggles, “guess I’m molting a bit.”

There’s a long silence, spent in the pleasant place between sleep and awake. “I’m thinking of writing to my sister,” Carlos says out of the blue.

“Oh, really?” Cecil’s eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t move from where he’s tucked under Carlos’ arm.

“Yeah. We haven’t really talked since I got up here. I mean, my parents are a lost cause, they don’t even like me anymore, but my sister’s still okay. I mean, she’s my little sister, I gotta look out for her, right?”

Cecil’s brow knits with worry. “Why don’t your parents like you?”

“Eh, I think they blame me for the divorce. I’m not really sure. I don’t remember when it started.”

Cecil doesn’t say anything else, but Carlos thinks he feels him tense against him for a bit before he falls asleep.

* * *

 

Carlos is shopping, and he stops to pick up some painkillers. The headache is returning again. He doesn’t know why. He’s been drinking plenty of water, but it still remains. Sometimes it’s a sharp pain, but sometimes it’s just a dull ache. He’s running tests, but the pain is beginning to distract him in the lab, so this will work for now.

He finds a bottle of relatively normal ibuprofen for once, which is a nice change. He puts it in his basket and is turning to leave when he sees the bottle of sleeping pills. He doesn’t know why he lingers on them- he hasn’t had any trouble sleeping since he got to Night Vale. Maybe it’s instinct. He used to take them all the time before he left.

He’s struck with a sudden half-vision, like a dream you can’t quite remember. He sees his own palms, cupping a sea of the little blue sleeping pills, and has the phantom sensation of a dozen or so of them sliding down his throat.

He shakes his head and steps away. That’s stupid. If he’d taken that many of the sleeping pills, it would have killed him for sure. And that wasn’t Night Vale. There was no unexplainable non-death after you fell off a cliff. Maybe the thing with the pills was a dream he had after all. That seemed to fit.

* * *

 

He tries to write to Erika, but the headache is killing him. Painkillers don’t help. The only thing that makes it ebb away is when he puts way the letter and doesn’t try to write to Erika anymore.

Cecil leans down to where Carlos is sitting, puts his head on his shoulder. His wings form a protective barrier around them. “You’re agitated.”

“I can’t write to my sister.”

“Maybe it’s a sign. Accept it.”

“ _No,_ Cecil, I can’t just accept it. I accept everything else in this town, but I can’t accept this. I accepted not dying when I fell off a cliff, and that was a pretty damn big leap of faith.”

Cecil is silent, but his wings tremble a bit. Carlos sighs. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just frustrated.”

“You fell off a cliff?” Cecil asks, voice tight.

“Yeah. Found myself back up at the top, though, with no injuries. Now there was a mindfuck.”

Cecil doesn’t say anything. His wings tuck in a little tighter, as if he can save Carlos from the dangers of the world like this.

Carlos leans back against him, reveling in the warmth of his boyfriend. “Cecil?”

“Hm?”

“Were your other boyfriends…alarmed by your wings at all? I’m just curious.”

It takes him a moment to respond. “None of them knew I had them.”

“What?”

“It never…had a chance to get that far.”

Carlos turns, kisses Cecil’s shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you’re sharing them with me. It means a lot.”

* * *

 

Night Vale feels really strange. Understatement of the year, yeah, but it’s not just the inhuman residents and the high death rate. It’s the fact that the days blend into each other. He can’t recall exactly how long he’s been here. He has a calendar if he really needs it, but six days or six months feel like the same thing.

One day, about a year and a half in, by Carlos’ calculations, he runs into Steve Carlsburg by the store. He smiles politely and nods his head, and Steve apparently takes that as an invitation to start a conversation. _Oh, great._

“Hey, Carlos. How’re you?”

“Good. I’m good. Can’t complain. You?”

“I’m alright. Missing the kids a bit, I guess.”

Carlos is half-listening, thinking about what else he needs to do today. “Your kids are gone?”

“Yeah, I had to move up here for business, and they stayed back. I’m sure I’ll go back soon. Y’wanna see a picture?”

Carlos internally groans. Of course the father has to show the picture of his kids to people who don’t want to see them. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve shows him a well-worn picture from his wallet, chattering on. Carlos squints at it, meaning to compare the little girl in the photo to Erika, and then he suddenly blinks, pressing his hand to his head.

“And then she- Hey, Carlos, you okay?”

“I can’t remember her face.”

“Who?”

“Erika. My sister. I can’t remember her face.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure that it’s fine.”

“No, you don’t get it. I need to remember. _Why can’t I remember her face?_ ”

Steve takes a step back, which is just as well, because Carlos drops his shopping basket and breaks into a run, leaving the store. This is urgent, and he isn’t sure why.

Why can’t he remember Erika? He only saw her before he left for Night Vale. It shouldn’t be this hard, this fuzzy. His headache increases, he feels like he’s going to throw up, his arms prickle, but he keeps going. He doesn’t know what he’s running to find, only that he needs to remember Erika.

The dizziness makes him drop to his knees on the dry, cracked desert ground. _Erika_. Why can’t he just _remember_? How old is she, again? Oh, god. He can recall his parents’ faces very clearly, but not hers.

And then, in his mind’s eye, he sees it. Her face. Her face with brown eyes glassy and open, blood matting her black hair. He sees her face and he screams, and his headache is splitting his head open from the inside.

He sees her blood, and he sees his blood as he sat in the bathtub that night, wrists open and clouding the water with red, only dimly aware because of the sleeping pills. He sees, and he screams, and he cries, and by the time he gets himself together, it's dark, and his only thought is _find Cecil_.


	2. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going to remind you of trigger warnings for abuse and suicide.

Cecil is sitting quietly at his desk going over tomorrow’s broadcast when the door slams open and Carlos comes stumbling in. “Carlos, is everything okay?”

Carlos leans against the doorway, trying to catch his breath. He shakes his head violently to Cecil’s question.  
“Oh, dear. Is there anything I-”

“She’s dead.”

“What? Who’s dead?”

“Erika. My sister. She’s dead,” Carlos says hoarsely. “Did you know?”

Cecil bites his lip. “I had a hunch, but I hoped I was wrong. Oh, Carlos, come here.”

Carlos allows himself to be taken into Cecil’s arms. “She’s been dead for a long time. Why did I think she was alive?”

“Trauma does funny things to people, dear.”

He sags against Cecil’s chest. “My parents told me to watch her. I was supposed to watch her. I just locked myself in my room and assumed she’d be okay in hers. Why didn’t I watch her?”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Cecil murmurs, stroking Carlos’ hair. “You were young and reckless. You couldn’t have known.”

“She fell down the stairs and hit her head. Who the fuck dies from falling down the stairs?”

“It’s alright, love, it’s not your fault.”

“My parents hated me after that, they couldn’t look at me.”

“They were just trying to hide their grief through anger, that was wrong, it’s not your fault.”

“Why couldn’t I have just watched her?” He’s sobbing against Cecil’s shoulder now, but through the fog something else tugs at the back of his mind. “And I- I-“ He pulls away from Cecil, only about a foot, and looks at his own forearms. They’re smooth and unmarred. “It’s been years and I- I couldn’t live with it anymore. I took a lot of sleeping pills and slit my wrists.”

Cecil’s wings brush against him, trying to give him comfort, but Carlos is having a breakthrough. He remembers his thoughts in the store. _If he’d taken that many of the sleeping pills, it would have killed him for sure_. He touches his own wrist, not finding so much as a scratch, much less the huge scars that should have been there if one had survived a suicide attempt. _If one had survived._

He looks up at Cecil again. “Why didn’t I die when I fell off a cliff?”

Cecil is looking at him with an expression like fear, or maybe anxiety. “It’s one of those Night Vale things, I suppose.”

“Cecil.” His tone is firm, the voice of a man who has nothing to lose. “Why didn’t I die?”

“Well, maybe-”

“ _Why didn’t I die?_ ”

Cecil holds his eye contact after that one. He swallows thickly and says, “Because you can’t die twice.”

Carlos knew it. On some level, he’d known it all along. But right now, getting hit in the face with it, it stuns him. He never survived that night. There was no car ride out to Night Vale. There was no lab position open. “Where am I?”

“Night Vale,” Cecil says, without hesitation.

“But what is Night Vale? Is it…heaven? Hell?”

Cecil crews on his lower lip. His wings rustle nervously behind him. “There are a lot of names for it. But I think the one that you’d best know is…purgatory.”

“Purgatory. Oh god, purgatory.” Carlos’ legs give out then, and Cecil catches him before he hits the ground. He lowers Carlos until they’re sitting together. He looks up, meets Cecil’s eyes again. “Are you an angel?” He whispers.

Cecil crosses his arms, looks off into the distance. “Angels don’t exist.”

“Then what are you?”

Cecil looks like he’s going to cry. “I’ve been here longer than almost anyone else. Eventually, they just- I became the voice of Night Vale, and the wings came after that. I think I’m some kind of guardian, but I don’t know.”

“And when people die, that’s them-”

“Moving on, yes.”

“So why haven’t you or I moved on? Why are we here?”

Cecil’s wings flutter anxiously. “I- I’ve never been able to tell for myself. Maybe I’m not meant to. I mean, I can see the reason others are here, sometimes, but not me.”

“So why am _I_ here? Is it to…” Carlos trails off, eyes widening. “It’s to make up for Erika, isn’t it? I have to stay in here until it’s absolved, right?”

“For god’s _sake,_ it’s got nothing to do with Erika!” Cecil shakes his head. “You’re angry. You’re holding on to so much anger. You still haven’t forgiven yourself for what happened with Erika. You _died_ punishing yourself over it, and you’re still angry at yourself. That’s why you’re stuck.”

Carlos gapes at him. “I’ve- I’ve got every right to be angry! My little sister died because of me!”

“You were young and _stupid_! But you couldn’t have seen it coming!” Cecil is yelling at him now, in a way he never did before, and it startles Carlos. “It was a freak accident. Your parents blamed you, and that was really shitty, but you’ve got to let go. This wasn’t your fault!”

“How do you know an-“

“Because I just _know_.” Cecil’s wings flare out behind him, and his eyes glow faintly gold.

There’s a lot of information rushing at Carlos at once, and his boyfriend is suddenly acting like an avenging angel, and he really can’t handle this. He suddenly feels dizzy and almost tips over from where he’s kneeling on the ground. He automatically reaches out and accidentally grabs Cecil’s wing-

There’s a flash of brightness and Carlos can’t breathe for a moment, then he’s being pushed away. He turns to apologize to Cecil, almost on reflex, and stops dead, mouth hanging open.

Because suddenly Cecil isn’t _Cecil._ Well, he is, but not like Carlos knows him. He seems…smaller, duller, no wings. He’s got a nasty black eye and bruises peppering his chin. Dried blood trails from his split lip. But the worst part is the dark ring of finger-shaped bruises around his neck like a collar. Carlos blinks, and everything slides back into focus. The marks disappear and it’s just Cecil again.

He can’t wrap his head around what’s going on right now. Cecil comes closer, gathers him in his arms. “It’s not fun seeing what I see, is it?” He sounds sad.

Carlos extends a trembling hand, rests it on Cecil’s neck, takes in the quickening of his breath. “You were…there were bruises like fingers there.”

Cecil lowers his head, hands tightening in Carlos’ shirt. “I had a knack for picking the wrong guys.”

“Oh, Cecil…” Carlos has almost forgotten the whole _Oh wait, I’m dead_ thing, because Cecil is hurt and nothing is more important than protecting Cecil.

“Don’t…don’t give me that. Okay? It was my own fault. I’ve accepted it.”

“No, no, Cecil.” Carlos takes Cecil’s face in his hands. “It’s not. That’s- that’s science. People think that abuse is their fault, but it’s not, okay?”

“No, not that. The fact that I chose him in the first place. And then I didn’t get out when I could. I was stupid. That’s why it’s my fault.”

“ _No_.” Carlos almost growls, and Cecil raises an eyebrow. “You know what, Cecil? You’re an idealist. You always see the good in people. That’s why I love you- you can see the good in _anything_. Maybe you saw the good in a bad person at the wrong time, but you’re not to blame. You just…made a mistake.”

Cecil laughs, shakily. “You just found out you died and now you’re consoling me?”

He presses his face in the crook of Cecil’s neck. Against his collarbone, he murmurs “I wouldn’t want to spend my afterlife with anyone else. Mi angelito.”

“My Carlos.” Cecil folds his wings over the two of them. It’s comfortable. Safe.

“You alright?” Carlos asks after a minute.

“Yeah, I’m….I’m okay. Better than I’ve felt in awhile, actually. I guess I always kind of thought that…you’d think I was dumb. If you knew.”

“You aren’t dumb. I’d never think that. And you weren’t.”

Cecil chuckles and Carlos can feel the vibrations against his chest. “I guess I wasted a lot of time being scared, huh? I mean, now that I think about it, what’s the worst than can happen? I’ve literally had the worst possible outcome. I’m actually _dead_. What else can go wrong?”

“It’s better, huh?”

“Yeah, really. I feel…good. Calm. A lot calmer than I’ve been since- well, since before I died.”

“That’s good. I- um…Cecil?”

 “Yes, beautiful Carlos?” Cecil says, smiling sweetly.

“You’ve, um…your neck.” Carlos though he was imagining it, but it’s there- a ring of purple forming around Cecil’s neck. He realizes that those are the bruises from before and blinks rapidly, but they don’t leave.

Cecil stands, pushes aside the cloth covering the mirror enough to see. “Oh. Oh my.” He stumbles backwards, looking at Carlos with a surprised expression. “Carlos, I-”

He stops, and his eyes _shine_ , like there’s a sun inside of him. The bruises on his neck grow more defined. Then, with a half-gasp, half-cry, he collapses on the ground.

“ _Cecil!_ ” Carlos rushes over to his side. He tries taking a pulse, not even sure if it would do any good, seeing as they’re both dead to being with. But he tries, and he gets a few faint beats for his efforts before it stops entirely. “No, no, no, Cecil!” He clings to the radio host, pulls him against his chest. “No, please, Cecil. You can’t. Please. I need you.”

He knows Cecil is gone- he’s a scientist, after all- but he still spends the next few minutes watching vainly for a twitch, a breath, something. It wouldn’t be the first time Night Vale defied natural laws.

But there’s nothing, only the sound of Carlos’ weeping.

He kills everyone he loves. First Erika, now Cecil. He’s a monster. Did Cecil move on? He has no idea, but whatever it was, he knows it was his fault. He can’t spend an eternity without Cecil, and he can’t die- maybe this _is_ Hell.

He has no idea how long he sits there, holding Cecil’s body and crying. Long enough for the sun to come back up. The light hits Cecil’s feathers, which look much less soft and luxurious now.

The secret police come later- he doesn’t know how they know- and have to physically pull Carlos away from Cecil’s body.

* * *

 

Carlos can’t function for days. Eventually he finds the strength to get up from the couch he’s been lying on while staring at the ceiling. He keeps the radio on constantly. The first day there was just a horrible half-hour stretch of silence where Cecil’s show used to be, but now it’s filled with government mandated chanting.

He ends up at the lab, because where else would he go? But he can’t find a reason to do any of the tests. What’s the point? This isn’t real life anyway.

He dreams about Cecil.

One night he takes out his standard-issue handgun that every citizen is required to keep in their home. He decides to find out what a bullet tastes like. He wakes up, after, with a dull headache and a citation from the secret police for trying to die when he has not earned it. Naturally.

He has to leave the apartment eventually, because even though he’s dead, he still gets hungry, and starving to death probably isn’t an option either. He goes to the store, unshowered and in a wrinkled labcoat. People give him sympathetic looks, because they were following the love story on the radio and it ended too short for everyone. But death happens in Night Vale, so they aren’t too concerned.

He sees Steve Carlsburg again while he’s shopping. The man is showing someone else the pictures of his kids. _I’m probably going to go back soon, my kids must miss me_!

For some reason that Carlos will never understand, that’s what snaps him out of his slump, at least a little bit. He goes back to doing Science. After all, he’s got a chance to study the afterlife- scientists everywhere would die ( _ha_ ) for that opportunity.

He visits Old Women Josie a lot. They don’t address the fact that Night Vale isn’t for the living, though he’s pretty sure she knows. Mostly they just sit on the porch and watch the sky go from blood red to the endless void. They don’t talk much, but it helps Carlos immensely.

Then, it all changes.

There’s a day like he used to have, where he’s suddenly hysterical and freaking out because _Night Vale_ , and it doesn’t matter if it’s real or not, it makes no fucking sense. He’s sitting on the ground, trying to control his breathing, and he’s got his phone out and Cecil’s number dialed before he remembers.

That just makes everything worse. It feels like a ball of sadness is uncoiling inside him, and he can’t possibly contain all of it. _Cecil. I miss you so much. I love you. I don’t know what to do anymore_.

Carlos looks at the sunbeams coming in through the window, and he’s suddenly reminded of those phone calls with Cecil. _Just take deep breaths and think about the sky_. He can do that. Cecil always gave better advice anyway. He lies down, tears still rolling down his face, and thinks about the sky.

He thinks about the sky during the day. Thinks about how he and Erika used to argue about if it was the same color as the sky blue crayon. How he used to fly kites in the park near his house. How Cecil showed him one day how he could fly, just a little bit. He’d gotten a few feet up and then fallen and Carlos had patched up his injuries with antibiotic cream and, at Cecil’s insistence, princess bandages.

The night sky. Catching fireflies in the backyard. Watching the lights glow over the Arby’s sign. Reading scary stories to Erika. They were both so young.

They were, though. Young. He still should’ve watched her better. He should’ve-

Well, he should’ve done a lot of things. He should’ve watched Erika better. Cecil should’ve never gotten into a relationship with that man. Josie should’ve never started smoking. Dana should’ve stayed inside on the night she died.

Maybe everyone has a million things they should have done. Everyone has their demons. Some are worse than others, but everyone has them. And people can’t keep thinking in should’ves. Carlos told Cecil that it was just a mistake, and he can’t keep letting the past get to him. Maybe Carlos can’t either. Or he’ll end up bitter and hateful, like his parents. He’s got to-

He’s got to let go.

The thought has no sooner crossed his mind than he feels a rush flow through him like a cold wave. He gasps, and his head is nothing but pain, he’s never felt such agony, and he’s sick to his stomach, and his wrists are hot and cold at the same time and he’d bet anything that they’ve opened up again. Everything hurts and then he just

* * *

 

It’s quiet here.

Carlos isn’t sure he likes it.

For the first time in years, he’s in a stable place mentally. He isn’t in denial. He grieves without hating himself. He thinks that soon, he might even like himself. It’s a good feeling.

But he aches for Cecil. He can admit that. He’s still in love with him, so much. He misses his voice, his laugh, his quirks.

There’s nobody else here. Not that Carlos can find. And at first that was good. It’s like walking through a blank white room that never ends, except the horizons are white too. There’s nothing else, only the floor. Carlos has walked for what seems like miles, just getting his thoughts together after what happened in Night Vale. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. There are no clocks, and he doesn’t ever feel thirsty, or hungry, or tired. He never needs to go to the bathroom or rest from walking.

Now he’s searching, he thinks. He wants to find Cecil, though he knows that’s unlikely. He doesn’t know where he is, but the pleasantness makes him think it might be heaven. He doesn’t know how heaven works, but for two individuals to find each other seems highly impossible.

Now he’s thinking like a scientist. He sighs and wishes he had a lab coat, and suddenly he’s wearing one. So this must be heaven after all.

He keeps walking. It’s quiet, and long, but he doesn’t get bored. He’s got years of backed up issues to deal with.

He hears a little girl laughing off in the distance. He follows it, if only because it’s the first noise he’s heard since he got here. He can see figures, but they’re obscured by the opaque white that seems to be the main theme here. The girl laughs again and he keeps walking.

When he gets about ten feet away, the figures finally come into focus enough to be seen. And when they are, it’s the single most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

Cecil, his beloved Cecil, is sitting on what appears to be a white cube and teaching a little girl a hand-clapping game. The marks on his neck are gone and he looks better than ever. He looks over and meets Carlos’ gaze with a smile. “Hey, you.”

Carlos grins so wide his cheeks hurt. “Hey.”

They hold that contact for a moment. Two souls in love that have found each other once again. Then Carlos’ thoughts are broken by the little girl running into his legs. “Oof, hey.”

She beams up at him with a missing tooth and Carlos’ heart skips a beat. “Carlos! I’ve been waiting for you!”

Voice thick, he kneels down to properly hug her. “Hey, Erika. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too!”

He holds her close and allows the tears to come. “I love you, little sis.”

“I love you too, big brother. Carlos, why are you crying?”

“I’ve just missed you a lot, and I’m really happy we’re together again.”

She pulls away and points. “Cecil has been teaching me games an’ telling me stories! He’s really nice! I like him.”

“I like him too.”

Cecil stands up to stand next to them. “I’m glad. So, what do you say, guys? Want to explore this place a little?”

Erika nods excitedly. Carlos picks her up, holding her against the side of his hip with one hand, and laces the other hand in Cecil’s. “Welcome to…?”

“Whatever we want it to be.” And with that, the trio walks away, the opaqueness filling in until there’s no trace of them at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my massive pile of feelings. If you'd like to be kept updated, you can follow me on tumblr [here](http://floating-cats.tumblr.com) where I sometimes post sneak peeks, new works and chapters, and take prompts.


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